CG11 M is for Mastermind, a numb3rs fanfic

Summer 2007 Alphabet challenge at the Numb3rs Forum. Sequel to H is for Hunted. AU, after Janus List. This is the 11th in what I hope will eventually be a series of 26. Q is for Quagmire is the 1st. There will be no further updates to this piece.

The throbbing in her head was the first thing she noticed when she regained consciousness. Then the fact that she was face down on a filthy floor filtered through. Eew, Fiona thought, Gross. She rolled over on her back, just to get her face away from the floor. The room was unfamiliar, though the smell was unfortunately not. Urine, she thought with disgust, and vomit. And I had my face in it. Ugh. How did I end up here? Slowly, it came back to her, and she became furious at herself for her carelessness. She should never have allowed herself to be surprised like that, but she had been concentrating on getting Luke the katana as a present, and had allowed herself to get distracted.

She began to take stock of her situation. Well, at least I'm not tied up. Wonder if I can lift my head? Carefully, she pushed herself up, little by little, and was relieved that she wasn't immediately nauseous. When she finally maneuvered herself into a sitting position, she held her head in her hands and moaned. It really was quite painful. She groaned when she saw the blood she'd left on the floor. They must have been trying to kill me with that blow.

Sighing, she looked around. It didn't look good. Some light was streaming through a small window, but was barely a window, just a vent really that had been filled in with glass blocks. Cellar or basement, she thought despondently. There was a door, but she'd bet any amount of money that it was locked. Doesn't hurt to check. She inched her way towards it, trying not to jostle her head too badly. Yep, locked. She leaned against it for a second, then stilled when she heard voices.

"He told us to leave her there."

Fiona scowled when she recognized the voice of the friendly old man in the store.

"Yeah, but she's a pretty thing, and I wanted to play with her when she comes to." The coarse voice said. "I like it when they scream." He laughed raucously at that.

"You better hope he doesn't find out, or we're both dead." The older man sounded disgusted.

The voices faded away. And the sound of a car driving away could be heard.

Wait till I find out who you are. We'll see who screams then, Fiona thought fiercely. She reached in the side of her boot. Good. The dagger is still there. How careless of them to let me keep it. She sighed when she realized she hadn't hidden her good lock picks in her boots. Never leave them behind again, she chastised herself. But thank God for underwire bras. This one had her second best set of lock picks where the underwire usually was. Second best because it wasn't as easy to use curved lock picks. But they still worked.

Patiently, she worked at the lock, pausing in panic several times when she heard footsteps. Eureka! Fiona was exultant when it finally unlocked. She got up gingerly, but was pleasantly surprised to find that she was still steady on her feet. Well, relatively speaking anyway.

Leaning against the wall for support, she inched her way along it, hoping it would lead her out. She tried to keep her bloodied head away from the wall, but found it difficult to keep her head up for long periods of time. It didn't stop her from noticing there were other locked rooms on the same level. And Fiona was relieved to hear the sound of a car driving away. Her eyes narrowed in thought. What kind of place is this that would need multiple locked rooms in the basement? Whatever it was, she decided it couldn't be good.

Silently, she made her way up the stairs. Kitchen. Fabulous! Then the sounds of a lawn mower starting up gave her a little confidence. She peered outside and saw a huge, muscular man walk past the window and away from the house behind the mower. Must be the bad boy, she thought with disgust, taking note of his face. I'm coming for you some day. She took a minute to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and headed towards the garage. How careless of him to leave the keys in the truck, she thought with glee. Fiona got in and drove away.

"Answer the phone, Charlie!" Don screamed in frustration at the ringing in his cell phone as he and Megan ran towards their SUV. Megan was on her own cell phone calling in backup and support to the park. The terror in her face mirrored his own, and he hit the on button to the sirens with more force than necessary. The tires squealed as he took the SUV out of the garage as fast as he could.

"You know, Charles, you are not being helpful," Larry told him with an indulgent smile. "I assure you, I can recognize the Rousseau gambit without your help."

"And I don't need you poking your nose where it doesn't belong," Alan told Charlie in no uncertain terms.

Charlie laughed, both at Larry's remark and at the disgusted look on his father's face. It felt good to laugh, the work he'd been working on for Don and for Colby had been weighing him down. Switching to his own work hadn't helped either and when his father mentioned that he would be playing chess with Larry in the park, he decided to join them. Larry had been withdrawn since his return from space, and it was good to see the Larry he knew finally come back to earth. And he was glad that he'd joined them. The sun was shining, but there was a light breeze, which kept it from getting too hot. The water lapping at the concrete edges of the pond was soothing, and the birds singing in the trees cheered him up immensely.

"I just wasn't sure if you'd left your chess skills up in space," he joked, leaning forward to poke Larry in the shoulder. He jerked and slapped a hand on his arm. "Man, that hurt!" Charlie realized with horror that he was bleeding profusely. Surely, there wasn't any insect in the world that would do that? He turned to his father, and for the first time in his life, he screamed in terror. "Dad! Oh, God, Dad!" He darted to his father, his own wound forgotten.

"Charles, get down. And call 911," Larry said weakly. He too, had been hit on the arm, and he had collapsed with the pain, falling below the chess table.

"Larry, my father..."

"Call 911," Larry commanded, putting all the strength he had into his tone.

Charlie finally responded to the tone. His hands shook while he struggled to press the three numbers. "Help! We've been shot! My father," Charlie choked, "my father's unconscious. He's been shot in the chest! Please hurry!" Trembling, Charlie gave the dispatcher their location and listened to their instructions.

"We need... we need to staunch the bleeding," Charlie said hoarsely, dropping the cell phone as he struggled to pull his jacket off. He wadded it up and held it against Alan's chest, unmindful of his own wound. "Larry. Larry!" Charlie yelled in alarm when Larry's eyes went glassy. "Larry, stay with me please!" he sobbed.

"I'm here. I'm here," but Larry's voice was a mere thread, reedy and thin.

"I have to hold this against Dad's chest, Larry, I can't help you. Don't give up on me," Charlie pleaded with him.

"I'm alright. I have a handkerchief; I'll wad it up and hold it against my arm. It's not bleeding as badly. It's just the shock setting in," Larry told him.

Charlie was relieved to hear some strength in Larry's voice. "Come on, ambulance, come on!" He pleaded out loud. His head jerked up in hope when he heard sirens, but it plummeted when he saw an SUV. "It's Don!" Glad though he was to see his brother, he would much rather have had the ambulances.

"Charlie! Thank God, you're still alive!" The relief in Don's voice was palpable, and then he realized Charlie was in tears and desperately holding his jacket against their father's chest. "Dad!" He ran to their side.

"He's been shot in the chest," Charlie sobbed. "I called 911, and they're sending ambulances. They said to staunch the flow, and this is the best I could do."

Don stripped off his own jacket, and crouched next to them. Vaguely, he heard Megan comforting Larry.

"It's going to be alright, Larry," Megan soothed him as she cradled him against her. She kept her voice low and calm though her heart was pounding with fear. She checked his arm and felt faint with relief. It was just a flesh wound and a through and through.

"Megan," Larry said quietly, smiling gently when she turned to look at him. He raised the hand on his uninjured arm and stroked her face gently. "I'm really glad to see you. You've had a lot to bear and I haven't been there for you while I dealt with my own problems. I'm so very sorry."

With a slight shake of her head, she snuggled her cheek into his hand and said softly, "It's alright, dear. Just hold on, the ambulance should be here soon."

They were five very relieved people when the ambulances finally arrived.

"My agents have been targeted!" Frankovich yelled furiously at Breston. "And in underhanded ways! Their families have been attacked! And you want me to help Steele?"

Breston held steady, the fear for his brother's safety and the safety of his people was now uppermost in his mind. And Luke. Dear God, please keep Luke safe. At least give me the chance to make amends.

"DDFS agents are under attack. All of them! These are agents who have put their lives on the line everyday. This isn't just something that they deal with on a day-to-day basis. It's an all out attack on an entire agency. Can you honestly stand back and not help? What if it's the FBI who is under attack? Would you not hope that the other agencies would help?" Breston pleaded like he'd never pleaded before.

"And what about the FBI's own agents? What if we're under attack too?" Frankovich shot back bitterly. He was still reeling with the news from AD Wright about the attack on Eppes' family.

"The only ones targeted are the ones who have been helping the DDFS. They'd been instrumental in thwarting some of the Mastermind's plans. Would you let the perpetrators get away? Please. Please help them."

Frankovich strode to the window and struggled to get his fear under control. Finally, "Alright. We'll do what we can. Where is Steele?"

"He's been summoned by the President," Breston said bitterly.

"Of the United States?" Frankovich looked startled.

"Yes. And he couldn't possibly have picked a worse time."

President Warren Andrews gazed out the window of the Oval Office and wondered what he should do next. Elected as Vice President to the 44th President of the United States, James Kimball, Warren hadn't expected to sit in the Oval Office a scant year after that election. But President Kimball had died suddenly of a heart attack, and he had been duly sworn in as the 45th President of the United States.

He remembered the day he and Jim had discovered, with no small amount of consternation, the existence of the Department of Domestic and Foreign Safety. The DDFS was answerable only to the President and Vice President, and thus only passed on from one Administration to another.

His thoughts turned to the White House Chief of Staff, Leo Spencer. Jim Kimball had appointed Spencer to the position. Warren had never quite known what to make of Spencer, but hadn't made a change to the appointment since there had been so much to do since Jim's death. It had certainly seemed unimportant enough at the time. But Spencer made him uncomfortable, and even more so as time went by. He was a competent enough man, but occasionally Warren would see a gleam in Spencer's eye or an expression on his face that gave him the chills.

It was Spencer who had brought the matter to his attention. Spencer believed that Steele, the head of DDFS was giving free rein to his agents, and they were running rogue, killing even when the sanctioned cases did not warrant it. Warren shuddered; the thought of being responsible for sanctioning deaths had been difficult enough for him. The idea that the agents were taking it one step further made him sick. Still, everyone was innocent until proven guilty, and he would give Steele the opportunity to defend himself and his agents. That, plus the fact Bryan Kaplan, the Deputy Chief of Staff believed that Steele had not, and would never have, exceeded the bounds of their charter. Warren trusted Kaplan implicitly. They had begun their political careers at the same time and had hit it off. Kaplan would be his first choice for White House Chief of Staff.

When he had himself under control, he turned to face Spencer and Kaplan, "Bring him in."

Steele fumed silently while he cooled his heels outside the Oval Office. His jaw had been clenched since he'd received the summons from the White House, and despite all protests, had been requested to meet with the President. He snorted. Requested, indeed, he thought grimly. The injury reports continued to stream into his blackberry, and he could do nothing except read them in anguish, as the agents who risked their lives for the sake of their country fell like dominoes in a chain reaction. He had done what he could to mobilize back-up forces before he left, but those resources were dwindling too. Nothing they did seemed to staunch the flow of deaths and injuries. He hoped his brother was successful in convincing the FBI to help. Struggling to hold back his tears of anguish and frustration, he barely heard the aide approach to tell him the President was ready to see him.

"Mr. President," Steele said calmly enough. "What can I do for you?"

"Several serious accusations against you and DDFS have been brought to my attention," Warren said quietly. He had noticed the pain in Steele's eyes when he came into the Oval Office and wondered at it. But he put it out of his mind; he had a job to do.

"What accusations are these?" Steele frowned slightly.

"Apparently your agents have been using excessive force, and there has been loss of life even in cases where deaths have not been sanctioned. The worry is that it's systemic, and that you and your agents have turned rogue, taking matters into your own hands. Judge, jury and executioner, so to speak." Warren watched as Steele went white.

"We are prepared to defend our actions on any case, at any time of your choosing, Mr. President," Steele said tightly. Then he couldn't control his anguish any longer, "But for the love of God, Mr. President, not now, while we're under attack."

"Under attack?" Warren looked startled. "What do you mean? I wasn't told of any attack." He turned sharply to Spencer, eyes narrowed, "What's going on?"

"If I may, Mr. President," Kaplan interrupted ruthlessly before Spencer could say a word. "DDFS agents have been under attack all day, while Steele has been waiting to see you. It's an orchestrated attack on the entire agency, not the normal danger, if you can call it normal, that the agents face day to day."

"Did you know about this, Spencer?" Warren's eyes flashed with anger at the mutinous look on Spencer's face that indicated it wasn't a surprise to him. "This can wait," he told Steele abruptly. "Go tend to the agency. Keep in contact with Kaplan and we'll get what resources we can to you."

Knees weak with relief at the unexpected support from the President, Steele thanked him and headed out the door. But not before Spencer murmured to him, "It's not over." Steele eyed him sharply, startled to see the malevolence in the other man's eyes.

"Come on, we can talk on the way. Tell me what you'll need," Kaplan told Steele as he strode towards the door. He hadn't heard Spencer's soft words, and he certainly hadn't noticed the look.

Steele nodded, but when he turned back to say something to Spencer, he had already moved back towards the President, presumably to carry on with whatever duties he had. I won't forget this, Steele thought grimly. Especially if you had anything at all to do with this attack.

"Be very careful of Spencer," Kaplan told Steele as they walked out of the White House together. "I've been doing my best to find out what he's up to but so far to no avail. I have this feeling he has something against you but it's unsubstantiated. He and Senator Barclay are tight as thieves, and since Barclay heads the Intelligence Reform committee, I don't think it bodes well for you and the DDFS."

"Thank you, sir. But first things first. I've asked former Director Breston to request help for DDFS from the FBI. Will you support me in that?" Steele asked.

Kaplan nodded, "Of course. I believe that Director Frankovich has already assigned some agents to help. Although some of his agents are under attack too." Kaplan eyed Steele, "Apparently the agents who have helped you in the past."

"Are they alright?" Steele asked, fear in his eyes and voice.

"They are, but their families and loved ones have been shot." Kaplan was grim.

Steele's heart sank. Dear God, could it get any worse?

"Eppes' father is in critical condition. His brother, the Professor, sustained a gunshot wound to the arm. And Agent Reeves' own professor was also shot in the arm. The two professors are still in the hospital but for observation only."

"And Sinclair?"

"Sinclair did not apparently suffer any injuries, nor was his girlfriend targeted. He was with one of your agent's girlfriend, protecting her."

Hannah, Steele thought, fear surging up again. "Is she alright?"

"Yes, they were apparently not targeted," Kaplan frowned. "I can't understand it."

"It'll come clear soon enough," Steele said as calmly as he could. "Thank you for your support, sir."

"Call me Bryan," Kaplan offered. "Best of luck. We'll be in touch."

Steele nodded as he got in the helicopter that would take him to his plane. I wonder if Spencer could be the Mastermind? he thought as the White House faded from view. He decided it was worth investigating. When things were under control again, he thought with anguish.

Don's face was drawn with worry as he sat by his father. They had stabilized him in the ER and brought him up to intensive care. Heart heavy with fear and regret, he gently slid a hand under his father's hand, curling his fingers gently around it. He barely contained his tears at the sight of the clip on his father's finger. Struggling to remember what it was called, he let out a single sob when he only remembered the last time he had seen one, attached to Taylor Ashby as he tapped out a series of numbers. The event that set all of this in motion, he thought dully. He wondered if he would rather not have known about the stupid Janus List if he had known what would come of it. Steps in the corridor outside made him scrub his tears hastily away. Just in time, before Charlie walked into the room.

"Oh, God!" were Charlie's first words.

"Yeah," Don whispered hoarsely. The sight was terrifying even to him. He'd seen it all before. But maybe, especially to him. His father looked frail, lying in the hospital bed, with all manner of tubes snaking in and out of him. Wildly, he thought perhaps if he could identify them, it would make it all better. That's the IV, he thought, then tears flowed down his cheeks as he stared helplessly at the rest of it. He had no idea what any of it was or what it did.

"Don't," Charlie choked. "I can't... be strong like you."

"Charlie," Don said softly, "You're the strongest man I know. I'm not sure I could have done what you did in the park."

Silently, the brothers stared at each other. Finally Charlie broke the silence, "What did the doctor say? Did he tell you what the odds are of Dad surviving this?"

"You know they're not going to tell us something like that," Don told him, smiling slightly that Charlie's thoughts were with numbers as they always were.

But Charlie wouldn't let it go, "What about you? Have you heard of anyone surviving something like this?"

Resolutely, Don did his best to cheer his brother up, "There was a case where an LAPD officer was attacked by carjackers after a softball game. She was shot point blank with a .357 Magnum. She managed to take her attacker down, shooting him several times with her own weapon before collapsing from the shot. It was tough for her, her heart stopped three times, and they had to give her 101 units of blood, but she survived."

Charlie eyed him suspiciously, sure that Don was pulling his leg.

"It's true," Don told him gently, "You can check that out. On the web even."

They stared at each other again. Neither brother would allow the stray thought to take root. The one that said their father was far from young and hardly as fit as an LAPD officer. And that if his heart stopped even once, it might not start back up again.

"Stay in here with him," David told Hannah as he left her in Sean's hospital room. "I'm going to check on Mr. Eppes."

"What's happened to Mr. Eppes?" Sean asked sharply.

Hannah was glad to see that Sean was more alert and had a little color in his face, even though he still looked weak.

"He's been shot," she blurted out in fear. "Charlie and Professor Fleinhardt too!"

"Professor Fleinhardt? Who's that?" Sean looked puzzled. Then his expression cleared. "Oh, Megan's professor. Are they alright?"

Hannah told him what she knew, which was very little. "And I don't know where Colby is." Hannah looked scared. "He and Luke were going after Fiona, who had gone missing."

"Missing?" Sean tried to sit up, but fell weakly back. He waved her away when Hannah fussed around him. "Hannah, would you get my phone?"

"Alright," she looked startled but complied. "Who do you need to call?"

"I want to check the status board," Sean said grimly. "I need to know what's going on." Not that there's anything I can do to help right now, I can't even sit up. But what he saw on the status board from his blackberry had him trying to sit up again.

"Stop that!" the petite dark-haired nurse scolded from the doorway. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to get up, Melanie, what does it look like I'm doing?" But Sean was pale and short of breath from the effort. He didn't resist when the nurse pushed him back into the bed and reseated the tubes and whatnot he'd pulled loose when he tried to get up.

Hannah almost broke into hysterical laughter. It was just like Sean to know the nurses names. But the laughter never came. Instead, it came out as a sob.

"Stay in bed, Sean," Megan said from the doorway. She looked drawn and tired. "Breston has Frankovich mobilizing agents, and they're doing all they can about that." She indicated the blackberry he was holding.

"Breston has Frankovich mobilizing FBI agents?" Sean's eyes narrowed. "Where's Steele?"

"Apparently summoned by Washington," Megan said dryly. "That's all I know."

This isn't good. Sean thought, sick with the helplessness he felt. "Is there anything I can do?"

Megan shook her head wearily, "They've told me to stay put. I can't imagine that they'd want you up and about in your condition."

No, he thought bitterly. They go all out to rescue my sorry butt, yet all I can do is lie here helplessly when they need me. He glanced over at Hannah, struggling to keep her fears at bay. I can be here for Hannah, he vowed. I'll keep her safe, Colby, if that's the last thing I do. I promise.

Fiona had to pull over to the side of the road several times when she got dizzy. It had taken her a little while to get her bearings, but she finally figured out where she was. She wasn't sure if she could have explained the head wound if she'd stopped to ask for directions. But luckily for her, the house she'd been held in hadn't been located in too isolated an area.

Carefully, she made her way back to the antique store. She hoped her car was still there. They'd taken her purse that had her identification, but she had a back up set in the car. When she got to the store, she was horrified to find it burning and in ruins. The area around it was cordoned off and crawling with firefighters, cops and FBI agents. Her eyes widened when she saw one of Steele's aides talking to the fire chief and an FBI agent. Conrad Sherrod was an administrator to the core, and never stepped out in the field if he could help it. But there he was. And he gasped when he saw her.

"Thank God you're alright!" he exclaimed. "You were reported missing, and your car's in ruins too."

"What's happened?" Fiona asked. She frowned with suspicion when Sherrod suddenly clammed up. "What is it?"

"Um..." he looked helplessly at her. It had been no secret when she and Luke started seeing each other, at least, not to the office staff.

"It's Luke," she said slowly, and terror started to build inside her. "It's Luke, isn't it?" She looked around her in horror. "He came after me, didn't he? When I didn't call in?" Fiona's voice began to rise. "He came after me, and he's in there, isn't he?" Her voice rose to a shrill scream and she tried to run into the still burning building.

Sherrod caught her and struggled to hold her back. "Please," he pleaded, "Things are falling apart and we need everyone we have. Don't do this."

Sobbing Luke's name almost hysterically, she let Sherrod pull her away.

Conrad Sherrod thought his heart would break, seeing the cool beauty break down like this.

Spencer smiled with satisfaction as he watched the news, both on national TV and from his own sources. His careful planning all these years was finally coming to fruition, and he had enjoyed watching Steele slowly unraveling while he spoke to the President. And once Steele suffered the losses of all his agents, of his entire agency, Spencer would enjoy tearing the man apart in the judicial process that Steele scorned.

He laughed softly at the memory of the look in Steele's eyes when he'd told him it wasn't over. He knew he had given himself away but he didn't care. It had been a delicious feeling he still savored, the look of sudden suspicion on Steele's face. Yes, his would be the last face Steele would remember when this was all over and done with.

Warren and Kaplan watched the same news bleakly. The reports were starting to come into the Oval Office steadily, now that he'd removed Spencer from the loop on DDFS affairs. He had made sure he got his own blackberry with access to the DDFS status board.

"How will I ever make reparations?" Warren whispered in horror as name after name appeared. "All these brave men and women in the service of their country. How could anyone do this?"

Unable to provide an answer, Kaplan could only stare at his Command in Chief. He hoped that Steele, Breston and Frankovich could do something to stop this chain reaction. They would not be able to do anything about anything, until these losses stopped.

Steele clenched his fists at each report that came in while he was in the air from Washington back to Los Angeles. Each injury, each death was an arrow through his heart. No, he thought dully at the name that came up, that's not possible. Not Colby. Not dead. He dropped his head to his hands and unable to control it, let out a sob. He'd become very fond of the young man, and had been grooming him to take his place at the head of DDFS one day. The day he'd first seen the young man was seared in his memory. He had been cradling his dying father in his arms, vowing to avenge him and clear his name. When Steele saw his name come across his desk on an intelligence report, he had acted quickly. And just in the nick of time too. He had rescued the young man from certain death. But to what purpose? His heart railed at the injustice of it all.

He tensed when the blackberry beeped again. Raising his head, he cried out in horror at the name that glowed at him. "Not Luke! Please God, not Luke!" Unable to contain the grief that welled in the chasm that had once been his heart, he broke down and cried at the loss of his friend.

A/N: You can read about LAPD Officer Stacy Kim at officer dot com. I found it while I was researching gunshot wounds. It's amazing what a human being can survive.

This story isn't over, of course, not by a long shot. I still have 15 alphabets left :-O